


in another life

by kedda



Series: in another life [1]
Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Singing, a drug deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 03:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16590023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedda/pseuds/kedda
Summary: The boys make Martino go out to obtain the weed himself after he loses it at the party.He's pretty sure it's not supposed to go like this.-(or; Martino meets the mysterious "Ramses" by the Tiber, they sing to each other, and they smile a lot.  A meet-cute.)





	in another life

In another life it goes like this.

Martino’s waiting out by the river for some guy going by the name “Ramses” because the police confiscated the weed at the party and Elia in a fit of pique made him set up the pickup himself rather than go through Laura’s brother like they usually do.

He unlocks his phone though he’s already checked the time.  The guy’s ten minutes late. He hears sirens in the distance and kneels down to pick up a smooth and round piece of tile.  The tide’s high and the strength of the current doesn’t give him high hopes for how far the rock will end up going, but he fits the shard into his hand and picks a direction to throw in.  

He pulls back and slings out, wrist snapping in the way that throws him back to memories of the beach and his father.  The tile spins in tight circles but after making contact once, twice with the turbulent surface of the water it sinks into the depths. He finds another, tosses it up once to get a surer grasp, and slings forward again, shooting for a glassy shallow near the bridge.  The stone pitters across the mirror top before bouncing off a cement column. Blood humming, he leans down again when he realizes he has company.

He sees a lean, masculine figure, hood up, dressed in dark blues and blacks angled towards the bridge.  They seem to realize that Martino is looking at them, and they begin to walk over in long strides. He suppresses the urge to take a step back.

Attraction is a funny thing, as Martino figures it.  Sometimes it’s passing recognition where he’d think maybe in another life or another place this could be natural, but he can let it go; and sometimes it digs in, merciless as it drags him under, where something familiar becomes mysterious, electrifying.  He had known Gio for a long time before he fell in like with him. He hadn’t known that the shift had happened until Laura and Gio had already started dating, and even then he put off the realization of it until Gio had cheated on Laura with Eva and the whole thing became truly pointless.  Of course, he had surrendered to the depths by then, and was made fully aware of the helplessness of his desire every time Gio stayed over and every time he was on the receiving end of Gio’s boisterous affection. It took betrayal for him to finally put any lingering hope aside. _There are no secrets in friendship_.  Gio can never know what he did, and so Martino will just have to be the best friend he can be to make up for it.

And so it is as the stranger walks closer, limbs loose and sure, the wind whipping off the hood to reveal a sharp face, brilliant in the afternoon sun, that Martino feels the sweet punch of desire low in his gut.  A chapped mouth quirks into a wry smile, and Martino feels a lopsided smile form on his own face in response even as he thinks _oh no_. He is not entirely prepared for the distant figure to become a person breathing warm air into the space between them.  Martino looks away when he meets a pair of dark eyes regarding him curiously.

“Hey,” he says, “Ramses?”  He looks up again and feels the blush bloom high in his cheeks.  He bites the inside of his mouth.

“Yes,” Ramses responds, voice trailing off.  Martino stares for a moment, then clears his throat, struggling to suppress a smile.  The silence becomes anticipatory.

“Were you, uh, serious about the singing bit?” Martino starts for lack of anything else to say.  The text had said, _Sing this song so I know who you are_.  

Ramses nods slowly, eyes widening beneath heavy brows. "Oh, deathly."

Martino finds himself smiling.  “I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into.  I’m a terrible singer. Truly atrocious. I can 100% guarantee that I’ll butcher this song."

Ramses shrugs and then smiles.  “I look forward to it.”

“I really wouldn’t,” Martino sighs, suddenly desperate to get this segment over with.  Sometimes he wishes that real life could just cut to commercial.

Ramses hums low in his throat but doesn’t say anything more.

Martino groans.  “Really?”

“Really really.”  And he smiles, the bastard.

Martino appeals to the heavens for a brief moment and then, begrudgingly, begins to sing “Bello e impossibile” by Gianna Nannini.

 

When Martino is about halfway through the song after having improvised upwards of 60% of the lyrics, Ramses starts cracking up, bending over as he laughs.

“All good down there?” Martino says, pretending to be annoyed.  Ramses nods and straightens up—and then just stands there for a moment, smiling at Martino.  Martino accepts that he has already given up any control he thought he had over the situation and is now content to just ride this conversation wherever it takes him. “Did I get the lyrics wrong?” he asks, innocently.

Ramses laughs.  “I probably deserved that.”  He looks up, eyes dark. “But you sang it perfectly.”

Warmth moves swiftly through Martino’s chest and he manages an incredulous smile.  “Do you have ears? Who are you?” He can’t suppress the giggle that follows. He feels breathless, lightheaded.

“Whoever you want me to be,” Ramses says, fluttering his eyelashes.  Martino barks out another laugh, surprised somehow even though this whole conversation is something unprecedented.

“Oh you’re a smooth guy aren’t you?”

“I’m flattered that you think so.”  He doesn’t think he imagines that Ramses sways forward when he says this, and Martino feels an answering attraction pull him forward.  His skin feels hot, electric. _Will he touch me?_ is a question he banishes as soon as it comes.  The desire to be touched, however, grows.

“I’m not entirely sure that forcing someone _else_ to sing for you counts as a good pick-up,” leaves his mouth before he can think about it, and his heart rate skyrockets.   _A bit bold, no?_  He doesn’t take it back, and soon enough Ramses smiles, eyes disappearing into perfect crescents.  It’s a little bit devastating.

“Would you prefer that I serenade you?” Ramses says.  His attention is focused and intense. Martino swallows.  Ramses’ speaking voice is low and textured, and in its lilting cadence Martino can hear a certain melodiousness that he suddenly, viscerally, needs to hear put to song.

“Immeasurably,” he croaks.  

Ramses cocks his head.  “Okay.”

“Okay?” Martino can’t resist teasing.

“ _Okay_ ,” Ramses smiles back, goofily wiggling his eyebrows.  This has its intended effect, and Martino laughs.

“What should I sing, maestro?”

Martino purses his mouth, thinking.  A stray lyric floats at the edge of his mind.   _A ritrovarmi a ritrovarti a ritrovare un senso._

“‘Pianeti’,” he hears himself say, “Ultimo.”

Ramses hums and closes his eyes, as if to center himself.  He crosses his arms, and Martino wonders if maybe he should have chosen a different song.  Before he can change his mind, Ramses begins to sing.

“ _Io ti aspetto dove il mare non se vede più_ ,” he begins.  His voice is rough, contemplative, and Martino doesn’t know where to look.  This feels strangely intimate all of a sudden, and with Ramses’ eyes still closed Martino finds himself drawn to the open vulnerability of that face.  He’s probably around my age, he thinks, or maybe a little older. Here he is, singing for me, a guy he barely knows. Marti closes his eyes, suddenly overcome.

“ _In that place where the moon hangs on a kite_ ,” he sings now, looking at Martino whose breath catches, “ _where anxieties are accepted and become cures._ ”  He drops his gaze and sings at a murmur, “ _I wait for you in the second that precedes time_ .*”  The words hang in the air for a moment, and Martino feels something within him tremble powerfully.  It’s similar to the feeling he would get before beginning to cry, and he doesn’t know why. Distantly, Martino thinks _you really played yourself this time, huh_.  

Several beats pass and Martino realizes that Ramses had stopped singing.  He looks over and Ramses is looking off towards the river with a wistful expression on his face.  Feeling Martino’s eyes on him, he turns and his mouth quirks.

“Will that do, maestro?”

Martino wets his lips and forces himself to swallow.  “It’ll do,” he says, and wonders if he was asking something else entirely.  Clearing his throat, Martino gives himself a mental shake, trying to clear his head.  “Why did you choose the name Ramses?” he asks. He doesn’t want the conversation to end, and he’s rewarded with a sheepish smile from the man in question.

“I didn’t choose it,” Ramses says, scratching under his jaw, “someone gave it to me.  A friend.” His voice grows distant.

“Wasn’t your first choice?” Martino offers, keeping his tone light.  Now Ramses grins and shakes his head.

“Or my second, or third, or…” he laughs.  

“Can I ask what your real name is?”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” Ramses says, and his eyebrow waggle makes another appearance.  Martino almost chokes.

“Well, if that’s the way it is,” he manages, and Ramses shrugs as if to confirm that that is, indeed, the way it was.  “My name is Martino. Marti,” he adds.

“Marti,” Ramses says, smiling.  Marti can’t help but wonder whether he likes the shape of his name in his mouth, and immediately wants to slap himself.

“I told you mine, _Ramses_ ,” and Ramses gives a good natured sigh.

“You’re really twisting my arm here,” he pauses, “ _Marti_.”  Martino quickly realizes that this is going to be problem, especially since Ramses must be able to tell the effect it’s having on him.

“I’m just going to come up with a new name for you, if you don’t end up telling me,” he warns.  He taps a finger to his chin. “What do you think of Abelardo? Or maybe _Kevin_ —”

“Wow!” Ramses gasps, “ _Che stronzo!_  You think my name is _Kevin?_ ”

“You’re the asshole here!   _Daje_ , I already told you mine!”

Ramses smiles, and Martino begins to seriously wonder if he really _won’t_ tell him.  It makes him feel a offended in a weird way, even a little hurt.  Martino has told him _his_ name, and the other man had jumped right into calling him ‘Marti’.  He supposes that this is, after all, supposed to be a transactional relationship, but he still feels disappointed.  

“Niccolò.  My name,” Ramses says abruptly, “is Niccolò.” When he sees Martino’s answering smile he adds, “but some people call me Nico.”  Martino pretends to give this some thought.

“Alright.  Sounds good, Nì.”

Niccolò’s eyebrows fly up.  “Nì?” he says, mouth open in an incredulous smile.  He has a lot of teeth, Marti thinks nonsensically.

“Nì,” Marti nods in confirmation.

“Alright,” Niccolò grins, “I can live with that.”

And then they just smile at each other for what feels like entire minutes.  A buzz from Martino’s pocket reminds him of the original purpose of this encounter.  Marti takes out his phone and sighs. _Do you have the :maple leaf: :maple leaf: :maple leaf:**???_ Elia asks.  He gives Niccolò an apologetic look, but Niccolò seems to already know what the notification is about and he just raises his eyebrows and smiles.

“It’s a message from homebase.  They’re wondering about the...goods,” Martino says, mock-serious.

“Ah.  The goods are secure and ready for exchange,” Niccolò nods seriously back, patting his coat pocket.  Martino has to shake his head. He knows that Niccolò is a stranger; it doesn’t change the fact that their rapport feels more familiar than some conversations with his own mother.  This whole encounter has been so unexpected, so different from the usual dull rhythm of things, but so natural that it follows a rhythm all its own. Now that their time together is reaching an end Martino feels out of sync, unwilling to return to normal life.  

Niccolò smiles as he takes Martino’s hand, cupping the weed between their palms, but his eyes are guarded as he accepts the money Martino hands over.  Martino watches him count the notes once, twice, three times. He frowns.

“Is there a problem?” Martino asks.  Niccolò hums in response. If that can count as a response.

“Look,” Martino begins, but Niccolò cuts him off, pressing one of the notes to Martino’s chest with a warm hand.  The weight of it is surprising, and Martino startles at the touch. Niccolò waits for Martino to take the bill before pulling back.

Martino swallows and looks up. “What’s this for?”  It’s a ten euro note of the twenty euro he gave. Niccolò gives him an appraising look and leans in, his hand coming up to rest on Martino’s shoulder.  “Consider it an investment,” he says lightly, mouth curling into a smile. His eyes are serious though as he pulls away and Marti doesn’t think before his hand shoots out to pinch the zipper of Niccolò’s jacket.  Their eyes find each other, and something stutters in Marti’s chest.

“Okay?” Martino says, unable to say anything else.  Niccolò nods, something like wonder in his eyes.

“Okay,” he says, and, swiping a thumb across the top of Martino’s hand, Niccolò gently removes Martino’s hold on his jacket.  “Okay.” He turns around and treks up the side of the bank, soon becoming a distant silhouette. He doesn’t look back.

Martino leans down and palms a smooth, crescent-shaped rock and looks out towards the river again.  After a moment, he makes a decision and pockets it, turning it over and over in his hand.

  


_È la fantasia che trasforma in pianeti i sassi / It’s fantasy that turns rocks into planets._

**Author's Note:**

> ~drops everything and flees in the opposite direction~
> 
> *=the original lyrics here are: _"In quel posto che alla luna appesa a un aquilone/ Dove si accettano le ansie e diventano cure/Io ti aspetto nel secondo che precede il tempo"._ If I got the translation wrong, lmk!  
> **=i couldn't figure out how to add emojis, so imagine that these are three maple leaves like the ones Marti used in his texts to Sana about the weed in episode 2 of this season.  
> (okay and i gave him the nickname ramses just because of the whole rames thing, there...really isn't anything deeper.)  
> -  
> i was vibing to Masego's Navajo (COLORS session: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fuAE3U1NvOs) when i wrote this— the tune is unexpected and playful in a way that seemed to fit these two ^^*


End file.
